


Must Be A Full Moon

by Yours_Truly_Commander_Shepard



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Animal Traits, Animal Transformation, Devoted Reylo, F/M, First Time Shifting, Inspired by Twitter, Lions, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Prom, Were-Creatures, trash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-11
Updated: 2019-03-11
Packaged: 2019-11-15 09:02:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18070433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yours_Truly_Commander_Shepard/pseuds/Yours_Truly_Commander_Shepard
Summary: @KTF_Reylo asked me, "What is shifter porn?"This is the answer.OR:Ben's a little lion man.





	Must Be A Full Moon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KyloTrashForever](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KyloTrashForever/gifts).



 

 

She was afraid but she wasn’t afraid of him.  Not afraid of the stories that science has debunked but remain indelibly ingrained in their collective cultural folklore: shifters are cannibals.  They do it with animals.  They might as well _be_ animals.  They could turn you into one of them with a scratch.  A bite.  Through sex. 

She is not afraid of Ben Solo. 

She was afraid she’d do something to screw this up.  It was hard to imagine this going south from her position, sucking gently on his tongue, body wedged up against his on the bench seat of his black Cadillac.  But Rey was sure she could manage, if it came to it. 

Ben disengaged, pulling back to consider her.  The only sign he is less than fully human is the golden glitter of his retinas in the moonlight.  Rey closed her eyes and leaned up again, but his kiss is closed and nearly chaste, just a press of warm lips against hers. 

This time, she pulls back. 

“Everything okay?” she murmurs, and her heart is still beating very quickly.

“Why did you say yes?” he asks, face a little severe.

She blinks at him, wondering how he’s waited this long to ask, if he doesn’t know.

She feels as though they’ve been circling each other for years without speaking of it.  Ben has been the dark spot on the edge of her vision, an unseen compass point drawing her attention.  They know each other without ever, before this night, having been alone together.  

When he asked her, in a chain of fumbling words about the senior prom that did not ever quite take the form of a question, she did not wait for the prompt before saying ‘yes.’  And at the time he had nodded in perfect understanding, evidencing no surprise.  It was finally clicking into place for them.  Something like destiny. 

“I wanted to,” is the only answer she can give him. 

“What did you want, exactly?” he asks, looming over her so that she has to shrink back against the passenger door. 

If a family produces a shifter unexpectedly, most of them send their kids off to special schools.  You can’t catch shifting, it’s genetic, but atavistic fear still divides most shifters away from the human supermajority, at least through secondary school.

But Ben’s family is too progressive for that, and he has been mainstreamed for his entire life.  Rey has watched him from the corner of her eyes for these four years of high school and never caught a hint of fur or claws or teeth.  Nothing but the shine of his eyes in shadow.  But as he looms over, his otherness is somehow the third figure in this small, enclosed space.

“You,” she finally answers, reaching between them to splay a hand over his chest.  He has removed his jacket, and the buttons of his dress shirt can barely contain the breadth of him.  Heat boils off of him; shifters run about four degrees hotter than pure humans. 

She wants Ben Solo, dark and scruffy where her classmates iron their khakis.  Ben Solo, unfashionably goth in the California sun. Ben Solo, who has finally asked for her when she has wanted him for years.  

He nods at that, but his expression is still troubled.  He pulls back to the driver’s position, begins undoing the buttons of his shirt (they have been in peril all evening long—Mr. Tuxedo does not size for men like Ben Solo). 

Rey’s breath stutters and she grips the dashboard as she watches him undress.

He does not make any indication that she should do the same.  Her lavender chiffon dress is a little crushed already, but it is short enough that it would pose no obstacle to whatever he has planned.   The small scrap of matching underwear, though—worth the two extra shifts down at the garage she worked to afford it—it has long since felt restrictive and uncomfortable, and she shimmies out of it while Ben finishes removing his shirt. 

She passes her underwear to him and he—he _smells_ them---casually and unashamed.  Then stuffs them in the pocket of his suit pants, as though he has no indication of returning them. 

“You wanted me like this?” he clarifies as he undoes the top button of his pants.  He carefully unzips them and pulls them apart.  Either Ben does not have an after-school job or he simply didn’t bother, because he has nothing on underneath and he pulls himself out, straight and hard and shining in the moonlight.

Rey isn't so experienced but has seen some dicks—she had a boyfriend for two years before this fall, and she has seen some porn--but Ben Solo is larger and harder but otherwise no different than anything she’s seen. 

Ben wraps a hand around the base of his cock, eyes still glittering with his question. 

“Not just like this,” she admits, breath leaving her chest in a shudder.  She wants Ben.  Wants him every way she can have him.  And if all he can give her is just like this, she will be happy to straddle his lap and convince him that she wants to always, always say yes to him when he asks her. But she wants all of him.

“Did you see something on the Internet?”  he asks, and there is an edge of mockery to his voice, a blade that slices both him and her with the question. 

She shakes her head. She has never searched for anything like that.  Not since passing him a pencil freshman year and seeing the careful way his hand did not brush hers when he accepted it.  She knows shifter porn is popular in inverse proportion to the prejudice shifters face. It’s not a kink of hers.  Watching it without Ben would have felt like a betrayal.  

“No,” she reiterates. “But if it’s something you…”  her voice fades off.  She doesn’t know how to explain it exactly.  What she wants is the idea of Ben being free.  Of him doing to her exactly what he wants to do.  Whatever and however that is.  

His face softens a little. He abruptly opens his door.  “Get out,” he says, not unkindly. 

They are parked 500 meters up a dirt trail in the state park that used to belong to his family. Nobody will see them.  So Rey obediently opens her own door, glad her sandals have block heels instead of spikes, and follows him around to the front of the car. His pants hang off his hips.  He still looks fully human in the moonlight, pale skin smooth and gleaming.  As she watches him, he toes off his shoes and watchband, sliding the later into the pocket where her panties are balled up. 

“I’m not sure you know what you’re asking for,” he says crisply as he stalks toward her.  

Rey’s mouth goes dry. She’s not sure either, but the growing and aching pool of warmth in her abdomen is asking for whatever he’ll give her.

“Ben, I know it’s still you. Even if you look like a tiger or something…”

“Lion,” he corrects her. 

“Lion?” she repeats. She heard him, she is just processing. The golden gleam of his eyes has always reminded her of a tiger, but lion makes sense, given his thick mane of black curls. 

He presses closer to her, crowding her against the hood of the car.  It is still cool this late into spring, but between the lingering heat of the engine of the car and the heat of Ben’s body, she is close to sweating. 

He is hard and pointing up against her abdomen, and she closes her eyes and swallows hard as she reaches two hands for him. 

“Do you have a condom?” she manages to get out before she totally loses her head. 

Instantly, there are inches of distance between them and she nearly whimpers at the loss.

“No.  Won’t stay on if I shift,” he says, in a tight voice.  “Is that a problem?”

She purses her lips.  “No.  Maybe. I’m on the pill, and I know I’m clean, but do you…?”

This is a conversation they should have had before he was halfway to naked. 

“Shifters don’t get human diseases,” he says, and that sounds like more folklore, but he follows it with, “but I haven’t done this part before, anyway, so yes, I’m clean.”  

“Oh,” she swallows again.   She wonders what other parts he has done, and who he was doing them with while she was wasting two years of her life with the boyfriend who had turned out to want boys while she was wanting Ben Solo.  

“Turn around,” he says, gently pushing at her shoulders. 

She thinks, in the last glimpse she catches of his face, that the long bones of his face have changed a little.  And his voice is deeper.  But she can’t be sure, in the darkness.

She obediently stretches out over the hood of the car while Ben’s hands roam gently up and down her back.

“It really is a lovely dress,” he muses.  “It makes me want to tear it to shreds with my claws.” 

At his words her breath catches and her belly contracts, but she tries to keep it casual.  

“You’ll have a hard time getting me home if you tear up all my clothes,” she says, voice cracking despite her best efforts.

“Oh, you think I’m letting you go home?” Ben asks silkily, lifting the hem of her dress to expose her lower body to the moonlight.  “I think I’ll keep you naked in my lair for days.  Naked and available.  You’ll let me do whatever I want to you.”  

“Yes,” she agrees.  He cups her buttocks easily with his two hands, sliding them until he can part her easily with his thumbs.

He settles his entire body weight over her as he licks a wide, hot stripe up her neck, ending at her earlobe. It makes her shiver; it feels primal, necessary.  She is trusting him with his sharp teeth at her jugular to show that she will accept him into her body.  He does it again, letting his hot breath warm the saliva against her skin. 

She hears the scrabble of his feet in the dirt as he kneels behind her.  

He laves a series of tender kisses down the base of her spine, but then there is a pause when he presses one hand against her lower back to hold her firmly against the hood of the car.  She thinks maybe…there is a prickle of claws at the end of his fingertips. 

His breath against her exposed cunt is nearly scalding.  But the real shock is the first pass of his tongue.  She has had this before.  Not frequently.  So she knows, when his tongue makes that first long lick from the hood of her clit down to her entrance…his tongue is different.  Longer.  Wider. Rougher. 

 Her body clenches, and she moans.

“You are _very_ wet, kitten,” he rumbles affectionately against her body.  His voice is definitely different.  Scratchy like sandpaper.  She will _not_ think the word ‘purr.’  

When he pulls her thighs further apart, she can feel how his fingertips have thickened, even if he is careful not to scratch her.  She would look down to see but she has the sudden fancy that she would turn to salt, like Lot’s wife, if she opened her eyes.  So she doesn’t.  She simply enjoys the repetitive lapping of his tongue against her.  It doesn’t have a great deal of finesse, but the range of sensations Ben can inflict from this position are getting her there very, very rapidly.

“I’m close,” she warns him, hands fisting without anything to grip on the hood of the Cadillac.  

“Not yet,” he growls at her. “Not without me.” 

She leans her face on her forearm and bites down on the meat of it, trying to stave it off, if that’s what he wants.

When Ben moves, it is with a superhuman quickness.  The arms that wrap around her from behind still feel human in their weight and shape. But the hands that grasp hers and hold them flat against the car are not quite…there are the claws.  And across his knuckles, the first hints of fur.  

She feels that fur again as he presses a thigh between hers to spread her knees further.  Some oddness in the joint of his knee when he kicks her ankle to the left.  But the slick weight between her legs as he nudges into her—that feels like nothing but solid man.

She might have thought that Ben would press home in the first thrust, which would have been uncharitable.  Instead he is careful with her, hips working against her ass as he works her open. Big as he is (would he get even bigger, if he shifted?) there isn’t a hint of a sting, only her body welcoming the stretch until his balls are nestled against her clit and his hot, heavy weight is pressing against the length of her body. 

She can feel him practically vibrating with the difficulty of restraint.

“Ben,” she whispers.  “I don’t want you to hold back. I want it all.”

His hips snap against hers, the end of his cock thrusting so deep within her she feels him in her belly.  

“You don’t know what you’re asking,” he growls at hers, his voice rough and inhuman as it is torn from his throat.  

“Please,” she begs him. Her body is coiled and ready and somehow she knows that if she comes now, while he is like this, he will never trust her enough to change in front of her. He thinks about that while he moves sinuously inside her.  

His rhythm pauses for a long, tense moment.  Then his hands clench over hers the moment before she feels his teeth in the muscle between her neck and her shoulder.  Fur erupts from his knuckles, spreading up his arm in a flat, pale coat. And inside her…she does not have the words to describe the feeling of how it changes, but there are hidden spaces in her body that are abruptly stroked by the shape of him.  All of it happens at once, jerking a loud gasp from her throat and the white-hot fireworks of an orgasm that expands from the base of her spine through her entire body. 

The noise that Ben makes, without loosing his grip on her shoulder, is like a cough or perhaps a growl.  But when he feels the clenching of her body around him, he roars just like a big cat on the savannah. 

The heat of his spend inside her is scalding, and her body shudders again, working him with the aftershocks.  The moment goes on and on, and she can feel him panting against her as her pussy contracts.

She tries to move, after, but his arms tighten to cage her.  His hands are flush with the hood of car. 

“Wait,” he says in a strangled voice.  “Just wait until it goes down a little.” 

Rey froze, half-whispered statements from the girls' room wafting through her foggy, post-orgasmic brain.

“Is it your . . . knot?” she rasps out. 

Ben’s startled cough turned into a laugh.

“No, that’s canids,” he says, sounding insulted. 

“Oh, then…”  Rey trails off.  She stiffens, suddenly remembering her second foster-mother’s tom cat.

“It’s not…spiked?” she asks, trying to keep the horror from her voice.  Was _that_ what he’d been trying to warn her about?

This time, his laughter spills from his body, warm and comforting around her. 

“Thank God, no,” he says. “It’s just…”

And then he finally does pull back, and the slip of the inches of him through her body makes her eyes cross and her entire body blush. 

“Ribbed,” he finishes. “It’s ribbed.  Is that okay?”

* * * 

Ben’s face in his half-form, once he settled down to let her pet him, was noble in its angles. Moreover, it was not unfamiliar—given the full black mane he sported even in human form. The digitigrade legs were a little harder to acclimate to, but they were mostly concealed by his suit pants.

The most challenging feature of her shifter boyfriend, Rey mused to herself some time later, was that a lion’s refractory period was something like a minute and a half.  She was going to need to work on her stamina.  

She dared a glance at him in the rearview mirror.  Maybe they could go jogging together, she thought.  Lions were most active at dusk and dawn and Ben has been doing laps past her bedroom window at 6 on the dot since the seventh grade. 

Rey was very carefully driving Ben’s prized Caddy back to his house.  Five miles below the speed limit.  Using her turn signals.  Coming to a full stop at every stop sign.

Lions, she recalled, could mate a hundred times over a period of three days.

But they apparently needed something of a nap afterwards.  Even if it had only been three times.  The first time over the hood, the second time in the back, and the final time in the passenger seat with her legs wrapped around him. 

In any event, Rey does not want to get pulled over with love-bites all over her neck and her panties still M.I.A. in Ben’s pocket. 

But more importantly, she does not want to get pulled over with a 400-lb. male lion asleep in the back seat of the car.  And snoring.  

**Author's Note:**

> Moodboard by @ancientcityjenn, who talked me out of penile spines. Send your thanks directly to her. 
> 
> Kinkshame me on Twitter @YTCShepard.


End file.
